


Flufftember #6

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26419507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Flufftember prompts:Barson - dancing, date mishaps, proposals
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83
Collections: Flufftember 2020





	Flufftember #6

To Barba’s credit, he tried to catch her. Up until that moment, they were perfectly in sync, moving as though their bodies were one—his hand tightened and loosened around hers with silent instruction, his fingers at her hip told her his every thought, their eyes were locked in an unbroken stare as the momentum swept her hair back from her face.

And then in mid-turn the heel snapped off her shoe and her ankle buckled. She cried out as much in surprise as pain as her leg went out from under her. Barba managed to keep hold of her hand and slow her fall, but she went down pretty hard despite his best efforts. He followed her down to the floor as he tried to catch her, landing on his knee with a jarring jolt.

She landed mostly on her hip, but that bruising impact was secondary to the lance of pain the shot through her ankle. Her dress was too tight around her thighs for her to draw up her leg, so for several moments she could do nothing but lie there, propped up on an elbow and struggling to catch her breath as she tried to ride through the unexpected pain.

“Liv,” Barba said, leaning over her, one hand on her arm and the other on her calf. He was breathless and flushed from their dance, his eyes wide with alarm. “Jesus—are you okay?”

“My ankle,” she said, trying in vain to reach the offended joint. She closed her eyes and drew an unsteady, bracing breath. “I’m okay. Just—just give me a minute.”

The music had stopped and people were gathering around, but she couldn’t give in to the rush of embarrassment. She needed to take stock of her injuries and figure out if she was going to at least be able to walk their table.

“God, I’m sorry,” Barba was saying, and she tried to focus on him instead of all the concerned strangers.

“Not your fault,” she said. She was getting a handle on the pain; it wasn’t insignificant, but she had plenty of experience compartmentalizing and it was nowhere near the worst thing she’d felt. “Just help me up, I think I can—”

“It’s already swelling,” he said, and she felt her stomach sink. She opened her mouth to answer, but her words turned into a yelp when he prodded gingerly at her ankle. He winced at the sound, immediately curling his fingers back. “Sorry. I can’t tell if it’s broken. Here,” he said, helping her sit up. He surreptitiously tugged the bottom of her dress down to make sure she was covered. 

She tried to rotate her foot a little and gasped at the pain. Barba had a hand on her back to help support her, and she looked into his worried green eyes. “I need to try to stand. Help me take off my shoe, first?” she asked, gesturing toward the one that still had a heel. 

“Alright,” he said, shifting so he could reach over and pull the shoe from her foot. He was back at her arm in a matter of moments. He looked up and caught the gaze of the maître d', who quickly bent down to grab her other arm. The two men helped her to her feet, holding her while she carefully tried to shift weight onto her injured ankle. The pain was white hot and she ground her teeth, closing her eyes against the sting of tears. There was no way she was going to be able to walk on her own.

When she opened her eyes, Barba and the maître d' were looking at each other, some silent communication passing between the two of them. Barba gave his head a little shake and turned his attention back to her.

“We need to get you to the hospital for an x-ray.”

“That’s not necessary,” she objected. “I’m sure it’s only a sprain. I’ll put it up, ice it, it’ll be better tomorrow. Actually, if you help me to the table, I’ll put it up on a chair and we can still—”

“Liv, come on,” Barba said, his voice soft but stern. “We have to make sure it isn’t broken.”

She wanted to object. They’d been having such a lovely evening, and she didn’t want the date to end with a trip to the ER. But she knew he was right, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. 

“I’ll have a car meet you out front,” the maître d' said, gesturing to someone. “And bring your belongings,” he added, again meeting Barba’s eyes, turning away at Barba’s nod. 

Barba put his arm around her back and she leaned into him, looping her arm over his shoulders to support herself. He helped her hobble toward the door as she tried to put as little stress on her injured ankle as possible. 

“Almost there, you’re doing great,” Barba said, and she shot him a dirty look. She knew the flush had left her cheeks, leaving her pale and sheened in sweat, sapping most of the threat from her glare. Unoffended, he offered a reassuring smile in return. 

By the time they got to the car, it felt like he was doing most of the work. He steered her around a small puddle, mindful of the fact that she was only wearing one shoe, and she sighed gratefully when he finally helped her sink into the backseat of the car. 

She watched the maître d’ hand Barba her shoe and broken heel, purse, and both their coats, as well as a small paper takeout sack with the top folded over. It was too small for a meal; maybe a couple of dinner rolls.

Barba slipped him some folded cash, despite objections, and leaned forward to murmur something that made the other man smile and nod. Benson leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to think about something other than the steady throbbing ache from her ankle. 

*

“What’s taking so long? I want to go _home_.”

“Sorry, Liv. Date night didn’t exactly go as planned, huh?”

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “It’s not your fault," she reiterated. "I’m just tired. And hungry.” She paused, looking at him. “What’d you get in your to-go bag?”

“What? Oh. No, it’s not...Um, do you want me to run to the vending machine and get some snacks? I can also call and order—”

“If it’s not food, what is it?”

“What is what?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, well...actually, it’s something for you. The waiter was supposed to bring it with dessert, but since we never got around to dinner...”

“A present?” She felt a stab of guilt for taking her irritation out on him. When he opened his mouth to answer, she quickly reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry I’m so cranky.”

He covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry you’re in pain, Liv,” he returned quietly. “The truth is…” He hesitated and sighed, glancing around the hospital room. “The truth is, I didn’t plan on doing it like this, but since it looks like we’re going to be here for a week…”

“Not amusing.”

“And since you can’t really run away from me at the moment…”

“You’re full of jokes,” she said, but she couldn’t keep her lips from curving in amusement.

He reached down and plucked the paper sack out of the chair. “Today’s our anniversary.”

“No, it’s not. Our first date was—”

“The anniversary of the day we met. When I made such a wonderful first impression that I’m pretty sure you wanted to run me over with your car.”

She laughed, but the sound was a bit breathless as she watched him pull a small box out of the takeout bag. “That was Rollins.”

“Well, either way, I somehow got lucky enough to become not just a coworker, but your friend.”

“Best friend,” she murmured, her vision blurring as he opened the ring box.

“You’ve seen me at my worst.”

“And your best.”

“And I can’t imagine a life without you. Without you and Noah.” He paused, looking down at the ring. “This is my _abuela’s_. It’ll need to be sized. I couldn’t conceive a way to get your ring size without tipping off those detective instincts.”

She laughed, blinking the tears from her eyes. “This might be the first time you’ve managed to surprise me.”

“Well,” he said with a pointed look around the room, “I’m a little surprised myself. Also, the original plan did include me getting down on one knee, but...I’m not sure I can do that right now.”

“Wait, are you hurt?” she asked, suddenly worried. She hadn’t noticed if he’d been limping, but why would she when he’d been supporting most of her weight, too?

“Nothing serious.” He drew a calming breath. There was a slight tremor in his fingers when he held out the box with his grandmother’s ring glinting from the nest of velvet. “Olivia Benson, will you do me the greatest honor—”

“Good news, Captain Benson,” the doctor said, breezing into the room with an x-ray, “there doesn’t appear to be any fracture…” His words died as he drew up short, blinking in surprise. 

“Great,” she said, “thank you. But while you’re here I think you should take a look at his knee, too.”

“It’s just a bruise,” Barba objected. He was still holding the ring box in his hand, unsure what to do with it or himself. 

“Sure, alright,” the doctor said, regaining his composure and continuing into the room. “Let me just wrap your ankle and then I’ll have you hop onto the examination table, sir.”

“Rafael,” Benson said, grabbing his arm when he tried to step back out of the doctor’s way. She leaned forward and he responded instinctively, meeting her kiss halfway. She pressed her hand to his cheek for a moment, letting her lips linger against his, before pulling back far enough to meet his eyes. “The answer’s yes.”


End file.
